


we made our way from providence to phoenix

by orphan_account



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Baking, M/M, Trans Male Character, flagrant misuse of flour
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-04
Updated: 2015-09-04
Packaged: 2018-04-18 22:57:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,382
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4723424
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Remus, you don’t use the stove for baking.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	we made our way from providence to phoenix

“For fuck’s sake,” Sirius rubbed his forehead, uncaring that he probably wiped flour all over his face. “Remus, you don’t use the stove for baking.”

Remus shot him a thin lipped smirk as he twisted the dial for the burner and gave up on searching for a switch to the oven and used his wand to flick it to life. Sirius could feel a vein in his forehead threatening to explode when Remus sent a tiny _Incendio_ towards the bottom. “That’ll make it go faster, right?” Remus asked, eyes sparking with mischief.

Cooking was not Remus’ thing. In fact, it was perhaps the furthest from Remus’ ‘thing’. Merlin, Sirius hoped that Remus was joking about how inept he was at cooking because if these were honest attempts, he had made a huge mistake in moving in with a man who was equally as likely to kill them both via misguided fire-making spells and lack of knowledge of kitchen appliances.

Sirius shot the counter-spell to Remus’ _Incendio_ before sending him to grab the baking sheet and some cooking oil. “Don’t set that on fire,” he added when Remus grabbed for his wand.

He turned back to the mixing bowl set in front of him. All he had left to do was breaking a couple of eggs and finishing the mix before setting it in the oven. He was reaching for the egg when cool, dry hands crept under the hem of his jumper and inched their way up to his chest.

He sighed before glancing down, and then nearly shrieked from the sight of Remus’ hands, covered in flour, purposely and efficiently ruining his undershirt.

Remus’ hands slid up and around his sides. Sirius pretended to ignore it as he continued preparing the mixture, keeping his gasps as minimal as he could when Remus snuck a hand up his chest and squeezed the flesh. He managed to crack the eggs, mix the ingredients, and pour the mixture onto the sheets without too much fuss.

When he finished, he turned in Remus’ arms, hands already reaching around his neck to tug at his nape and hold him there. He tried to look put upon, but if Remus’ expression was warranted, he probably looked more turned on than anything else.

“Done yet?” Remus asked, dark eyes slipping from Sirius’ to his lips. Before he could stop himself, Sirius leaned in and pressed a small kiss to the corner of Remus’ mouth.  He pulled away after a short moment and waved a hand at Remus, dismissing him from the room.

He placed the sheet into the oven and cleaned up the mess he and Remus made before leaning back against the counter.

“I’m finished,” he called, grinning when Remus wandered around the island and placed his hands on Sirius’ shoulders. He let himself be dragged from the kitchen, murmuring an alarm charm under his breath before he was being pulled onto the sofa and into Remus’ lap. He barely had time to gasp a breath before Remus was pulling him in for a long, slow kiss.

And so they kissed.

They kissed, and kissed, and kissed until Sirius pulled away gasping for air. His eyes fluttered open, examining the careful, delicate blush high on Remus’ cheekbones, the lovely bitten-red hue of his lips, the dainty flutter of his lashes over his cheek. His hair was a mess of curls and fingers; Sirius twisted them just to hear Remus gasp and arch back, exposing the gentle slope of his throat.

He bit down on it, just because he could.

Then they kissed more, and more, and more, until it was Remus who broke the kiss and ran sharp fingernails down Sirius’ back: a question. He shook his head and buried his face in the crook of Remus’ shoulder, breathing in that woodsy, chocolatey scent Remus carries with him like a second skin.

After a few moments of that, Remus nudged at his back and shifts his knees. “Pads,” he said, flicking at Sirius’ earlobe. “Pads, I think something’s burning.”

Sure enough the timer had gone off and Sirius missed it. The air was just starting to smell like charred pastries, which had to be unpleasant for Remus. He groaned and pushed out of Remus’ lap, already missing the contact as he went to turn off the oven. He used his wand to repair the charred portions of the cake before he pulled it out and set it down to cool.

He glanced behind him when he heard the sound of Remus’ footsteps pattering into the room, and smiled when Remus wrapped warm arms around his waist.

“Finished now?” Remus asked, breath ghosting over the shell of Sirius’ ear. He reached down and settled one hand over Remus’ wrist.

He was already tugging them out of the kitchen and down the hall towards their bedroom before he replied, “Yeah, Moony, I’m finished.”

Sirius let go of Remus’ wrist and shucked off his clothes as he walked, uncaring of the mess he left in his wake. He was always a little uncomfortable being shirtless, even if it was in his own flat. He reached up and cupped his hands over his breasts, listening as Remus undressed before crawling onto the bed and sprawling over the sheets. He shifted a bit, trying to get more comfortable even with the knowledge that it was unlikely.

He kept an eye on Remus as he made his way across the room, elegant legs, tanned with the summer, flexing every time he took a step. Remus Lupin was always an exquisite spectacle, even if Remus himself didn’t agree. He was thin, but not obtrusively so, with small muscle definition from the potions Madam Pomfrey had taught him to make. His nose was sharp, straight, and almost perfect. Sirius supposes that it’s odd to fall in love with a person’s nose, but he’s never been a particularly normal person. Remus’ cheekbones rested high on his face, highlighted by a smattering of dark brown flecks and spots. His eyes were dark brown. “Like the dirt,” Remus would say. Sirius would disagree because nothing so brilliant could be equated with dirt.

He was daintily fit, and handsomely soft. Remus Lupin was an oxymoron of descriptors.

Sirius leaned back when Remus slung a leg over his hips. He let his eyes roam Remus’ frame, the jagged scars running under the dark brown smudges of his nipples. He cupped the casual slope of his waist, traced the cut of his hip bones with his thumbs and slid his fingers down the smattering of hair between his legs.

Remus was lovely in a way that not very many people were during sex. Though, Sirius expected, he was a bit biased on the topic of Remus’ loveliness.

He watched, rapt with attention, as Remus arched and whined and groaned and curled. He loved the way Remus could be coaxed to say anything if he was kissed in the right place. He loved how he had little ‘buttons’, as James had coined them during sixth year, where he would make the most delightful sound if they were teased. He loved that Remus opened up like a moonlit flower during sex, and loved, above all else, Remus himself.

They fucked well beyond the time it took for the cake to cool. The telephone rang, but neither of them could be assed to climb out of bed to answer it. They fucked a bit more, and Remus told him he loved him. Sirius said it back.

They fucked until they collapsed in an exhausted heap, and fell asleep.

And in the morning, Sirius woke to the image of Remus snoozing away in the pale sunlight, eyelashes and tips of his curly ginger hair bleached in the sunlight. He couldn’t help but trace light fingertips over the freckles on Remus’ chest, down his side, over his smattering of scars. He lived for Remus washed out and faded, as though he was pulled out of an aged muggle snapshot.

He thought this could be happiness; lazing around at dawn with the man he loved most in the world. He glanced over at Remus, brow furrowing in his sleep, and knew that even if it wasn’t, this was _his_ happiness and he wouldn’t trade it for anything.

**Author's Note:**

> my first (posted) hp fic!
> 
> yell at me on [tumblr](http://frouvaire.tumblr.com).


End file.
